


Can I Not Like You For Awhile? (No)

by QueridaMyDear



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Arguing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Lovey-Dovey, M/M, Making Up, Sulking, dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 17:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueridaMyDear/pseuds/QueridaMyDear
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale argue over something stupid then get mad at each other, but they're both terrible at actually staying mad. Anathema eats three desserts.Inspired by this post, of all things.





	Can I Not Like You For Awhile? (No)

Anathema had been the first to arrive for her and Newton’s monthly double date with Aziraphale and Crowley at the newest fancy little pastry shop in Tadfield. Newton had been held up at work, so she wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t there when she arrived. Crowley and Aziraphale were driving in either from South Downs or the Soho bookshop, but either way they had to take the M25, so once again, she wasn’t surprised they weren’t there either. She seated herself at a table and started perusing the menu, running through her mental list of pastries she’d already tried, which ones were new and sounded good, or which ones she wanted to try again.

By the time she’d ordered and her brownie a la mode had arrived, the door to the little pastry shop opened, Crowley and Aziraphale spilling in, their faces animated with anger, both of them uncharacteristically angry and actually yelling at one another. She’d never actually seen them full blown _angry_ with one another. Mildly annoyed, yes. Whining at each other, definitely. But actually visibly angry with each other? This was new to her. She was alarmed but also curious as to what it took to get these two to be actually mad at each other. She held her breath as they came stomping over to the table she sat at, their argument easier to hear now.

“...Cannot drive so fast through Soho, there are people in the street-” “Jaywalkers know what they’re in for, they know there’s cars on the road!” “You could’ve hit someone-” “But I didn’t! And anyway I wouldn’t’ve had to drive _so fast_ if you didn’t take an hour to get ready! We were going to be late! Why does it even _take_ an hour for you to get ready?? You’re wearing the same thing you wore yesterday! And the day before! You’ve been wearing the same thing for a hundred years! It should take you five minutes to pull on the same clothes!”

Anathema’s brows raised as they dropped huffily into their seats opposite her, paying no attention to her whatsoever, almost as if she wasn’t even there. She stared at them, listened to a bit more of their arguing, eyeing her brownie a la mode eagerly. It seemed rude to start eating while they were fighting in front of her. What if they wanted her to take a side? She wouldn’t, of course. But what if they tried to drag her into it and her mouth was full of brownie and ice cream? It would be extremely awkward to try to swallow it quickly to say something, and even more awkward if swallowing the ice cream too quickly gave her brain freeze. Did they even understand brain freeze? Anathema found herself staring a little too closely at Crowley for a moment, wondering if he had been the one to create brain freeze.

However, after another minute of being completely ignored, she decided it would be worse to waste this delicious brownie (she knew Aziraphale would agree with her) and she started eating, her eyes fixed on her friends while they continued their argument. It was so rare to see them arguing, and she was fascinated.

“You are not allowed to complain about how long it takes me to get ready when you take a full hour to get ready! You aren’t even wearing real clothes, you just miracle them on! For Heaven’s sake _why_ does it take you an hour if you’re just materializing whatever’s fashionable out of the ether??” Aziraphale huffed with his entire body to prove his point, crossing his legs so they pointed away from Crowley.

“How dare you use that kind of language with me!” Crowley gasped, jumping out of his seat. Anathema squinted, mentally recalling Aziraphale’s part of the argument to try to figure out what ‘language’ he’d used, until she realized he’d brought Heaven into the discussion. She was invested in this drama now, ridiculous as it was, and cut off another bite of brownie. The brownie was so good she very nearly forgot about the silly drama going on in front of her. It seemed a shame to be eating it while watching them argue, the brownie really did deserve her full attention. But out of the corner of her eye she caught Crowley standing up to his full height, his hands gesturing wildly up and down along his body. Anathema stole a small glance around the shop. There were plenty of people here but no one was paying any attention to the middle aged gentlemen obviously involved in a lovers’ quarrel. She didn’t understand why this was going unnoticed. This was Tadfield. The neighbors noticed if she didn’t put the garbage out on the right day, and here there were two hysterical men having an apocalyptic tantrum over who took longer to get ready and she was apparently the only one who noticed.

“It takes time to look this good, angel, even with the powers of Hell at my disposal, and I refuse to apologize for wanting to look good.” Crowley gave a little grunt as he dramatically angled his head backward in what he thought was an attractive, sexy motion, but it just looked like he was trying to dodge a bug that was flying right at this face. He sat back down heavily and kept his face turned away, a hard pout beginning to set in on his face.

“Well I refuse to apologize for not wanting you to mow down pedestrians in Soho! It’s _rude!_” Aziraphale shouted back at Crowley, his mouth bunched up angrily as he too turned away, his back to Crowley’s as they both very deliberately ignored each other in retaliation for their disagreement.

Anathema had finished her brownie at this point and the waiter came over to take her plates.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” The waiter asked, apparently not noticing or not caring about the two gentlemen both having a tantrum like the rest of the shop. It was strange but Anathema decided it wasn’t worth caring about. But while she was here and Aziraphale and Crowley were still arguing, she figured she might as well start checking off other pastries she’d wanted to try.

“Oh, yes, I’ll have a slice of apple pie and more tea, please.” Anathema smiled as she gave her order, then returned her focus to Aziraphale and Crowley. Her current tea was getting cold but she sipped it, closely watching their faces for minute changes in their extraordinarily pouty expressions.

Aziraphale’s cheeks were flushed and hot, his jaw clenched and trembling as he replayed the argument over and over in his head. Crowley’s behavior was simply unacceptable! Yes, they had been running late, but Anathema would have understood if it meant the difference between hitting a pedestrian or not! Not that Crowley had actually hit anyone, but he nearly had! He was so reckless when driving, going too fast, weaving in between cars, and all without seat belts in the Bentley! Aziraphale had often tried to remind himself to miracle seat belts in there, but the moment he sat down, Crowley slammed his foot on the gas pedal and Aziraphale was too worried for his corporeal form to remember to put seat belts in. 

Crowley was the physical manifestation of a sulk. His lips were downturned in the most dramatic angle Anathema had ever seen outside of a frowning emoji, his arms folded tightly over his chest as if he were attempting to physically hold himself further away from Aziraphale, though because of the way he was slouching while sulking, he wound up pressing his back into Aziraphale’s. His long legs were crossed quite severely at the knee and taking up as much walking space in the aisle beside the table as possible. A mother on the way to the bathroom with her young son had to stop and step over Crowley’s legs, and direct her child to walk around them. 

The waiter returned with Anathema’s pie and a pot of tea. She thanked the man and quickly looked back, not wanting to miss a thing. This performance was far better than anything on TV, except for the show she kept catching the same episode of, where the Queen was a trained spy.

Aziraphale was the first to show signs of cracking. His almost-angry brows softened, the innermost corners tilting upward like a sad puppy as his anger lessened just the slightest bit. He was still extremely annoyed, he had told Crowley over and over that he couldn’t race through Soho, and still, he kept doing it. But there was a part of him that was more sad they were arguing than he was angry about Crowley misbehaving. They had spent so long dancing around one another, and now that they had finally admitted to themselves and each other what they felt, every moment they were upset felt like a return to before the apocalypse, when hundreds of years would go between the times they saw each other. Crowley was right behind him but he felt so far away.

Anathema held back a small gasp, seeing Aziraphale’s arm moving, slowly. She glanced under the table and saw him reaching back, his fingers outstretched as they touched the edge of Crowley’s seat, sneaking onto it and gently pressing into his thigh, searching for his hand. She grabbed her pie and leaned over again, cutting out pieces of the pie and shoving them into her mouth as she watched, alternating between looking over the top of the table to gauge Crowley’s reaction and back under to see what Aziraphale was doing.

Aziraphale chewed his lip sadly, feeling so lonely even with Crowley’s back arched into his, relying on Aziraphale sitting upright to support the dramatic arch of his sulk. He felt Crowley’s thigh as he reached backward in search of his hand, not knowing exactly how Crowley was posed, but he couldn’t turn to look. That would destabilize Crowley’s pose and send him crashing to the floor. Even if they were arguing and mad at each other right now, Aziraphale was feeling competing urges to continue pouting, and also to seek out Crowley’s touch. Whenever he was upset he always turned to Crowley for love and reassurance, and even though right now Crowley was the target of his anger, he still had that instinctual need to run to Crowley.

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s fingers searching for his hand, his touch soft and seeking, as though he were simultaneously hoping to find Crowley’s hand without his awareness, or that his pleading touch would soften Crowley’s anger and deliver his hand into Aziraphale’s. Crowley had the fleeting thought that he could ignore Aziraphale’s hand and continue to be angry, but the thought of Aziraphale’s sad face surfaced in his mind’s eye, against his will. He thought of Aziraphale’s disappointed eyes and distressed, trembling mouth, turning away from Crowley in his mind’s eye to hide his sadness at being rejected. Crowley’s heart ached and he untangled his arms, sliding one down, his fingertips touching Aziraphale’s palm. Aziraphale’s hand reached out and grabbed Crowley’s, holding it tight, though they both still faced opposite directions.

Anathema gasped softly, as though she were watching TV and had just witnessed a huge twist she hadn’t seen coming, though she knew these two idiots couldn’t possibly stay mad at each other for very long. She sat upright in her seat again, sipping her tea as she studied their faces, noting how both of them now wore markedly softer expressions. To any bystander, Crowley still looked incredibly severe and frighteningly unapproachable, but Anathema could see the degrees by which he was pouting ever so slightly less than before, now that Aziraphale was holding his hand.

The doors to the pastry shop opened and Newt came crashing in, frantic as he looked around and spotted Anathema, studiously watching Aziraphale and Crowley as she devoured her pie. He rushed over, apologizing rapidly.

“I’m so sorry, I got out late and Dick Turpin stopped in the road and I called a tow truck and the driver laughed at Dick for a solid ten minutes before hooking him up to tow-” Newt scrambled to explain his delayed arrival, distracted from his story when he noticed Aziraphale and Crowley sitting, resolutely, back to back, not speaking, and Anathema shoveling pie into her mouth while staring at them.

“Anathema?” Newt asked, sliding into his seat beside her.

“Newt?” Anathema asked, finishing off her pie and waving the waiter over.

“Why are Crowley and Aziraphale sitting with their backs to each other?” Newt had never seen them quite like this. Normally when they got together for their double dates, if Aziraphale was talking then Crowley was gazing lovingly (Newt assumed it was a loving gaze, he’d never actually seen underneath Crowley’s glasses. Did he _have_ eyes?) at him, and if Crowley was talking, then Aziraphale was gazing lovingly at _him_. It was unsettling to see them sitting with their backs to each other, not talking, not flirting, not gazing at each other. The world felt wrong, somehow, and dimmer for not having Aziraphale’s smile in it.

“They had a fight.” Anathema handed the waiter her empty plate when he came over, “Hi again, can I get a slice of blueberry peach bread pudding? And what would you like, Newt?”

“Um. I. Where’s the menu?” Newt looked nervously between Aziraphale and Crowley, Anathema, the table, and the waiter. 

“They have cinnamon rolls.” Anathema said simply, and Newt nodded at the waiter, wordlessly and anxiously signaling his approval of the order. Anything to not have to inconvenience the waiter by making him fetch a menu. The waiter eyed Anathema somewhat curiously as he wrote out her third order of the past hour on his notepad, but went to fill the orders. Once the waiter was gone, Newt turned toward Anathema, motioning to Aziraphale and Crowley with his head, clearly trying to be discreet, but currently unaware that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had responded even once to anything happening beyond their quarrel.

“If they’re fighting, why are they still holding hands?” Newt had never had a fight with anyone where he had held their hand while he was still upset with them. When he and Anathema fought they generally kept to opposite sides of Jasmine Cottage until they were calm enough to talk things out.

Anathema turned to their idiot friends, their expressions having grown ever softer while Anathema was filling Newt in on the details. Aziraphale was now turning his head back little by little, then quickly looking forward again, clearly _wanting_ to turn back and face Crowley again, though he still hesitated, since they were fighting and he wanted to be right, but his desire to ‘win’ the argument was rapidly losing out to his desire to look Crowley in the face again. Crowley looked as though he were straining to keep his face fixed forward, to not turn and start shouting apologies at Aziraphale, his jaw set tightly and his breathing a bit labored as he fought himself to stay put.

“They get sad when they fight.” She shrugged, eyes lighting up when the waiter returned and set their orders down in front of them. 

“...Ah.” Newt didn’t entirely understand how she knew that, but he didn’t ask. He started eating his cinnamon bun, joining Anathema in watching their friends. There wasn’t much else to do. But when Crowley turned, stealing a lingering glance (as far as Newt understood the glance anyway, he still couldn’t see Crowley’s eyes) at Aziraphale, he let out a gasp of surprise and delight, suddenly completely invested in the ridiculous scene. He turned to Anathema as if to ask with his wide open eyes if she had seen that slow, longing glance. Anathema nodded eagerly, cutting out bites of her bread pudding and shoving it into her mouth. Crowley turned away again, and Newt and Anathema silently groaned together.

Aziraphale sighed, a deep, full body sigh that ended with his shoulders sagging. He hated this. He hated being upset with Crowley. Even more, he hated knowing Crowley was upset with him. The argument had been so stupid, and it wasn’t as though either of them would win a prize for which one of them could sulk the longest. All they got for their pettiness was more silence from the other, which Aziraphale absolutely didn’t want. He squeezed Crowley’s hand and turned to face forward, and was surprised to see that Crowley was also facing forward now, their hands still clasped between them.

“Oh, my dear…” Aziraphale smiled gently, sweetly, relieved that the tension between them seemed to have dissipated. Across the table, Newt and Anathema were watching, spellbound, hearing Aziraphale speak up first. “I’m sorry. You do drive so very, very fast but… I know you were only trying to make sure we arrived on time, you know I do so look forward to these double dates. They’re so much fun!”

“I’m sorry too,” Crowley brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Aziraphale’s hand, clearly relieved they were making up. “I know how proud you are of your clothes, I know they take a little extra time to take care of. I have no excuse for how long I take though.” He shrugged, offering a little grin. Aziraphale smiled adoringly, the entire local Tadfield area seeming warmer and brighter suddenly.

“I love you, Crowley.” Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss, both Newt and Anathema leaning in closer over the table, absolutely hooked, hearts pounding, until Aziraphale’s lips landed on Crowley’s. Newt and Anathema silently cheered together, Anathema pumping her fists in the air, Newt performing an embarrassing celebratory dance in his seat that ended with him swiping his fork off the table on accident, sending it crashing to the floor.

“I love you too, angel.” Crowley brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed Aziraphale’s hand again, the angel sighing adoringly as he squeezed his fingers a little tighter over Crowley’s hand.

“I had a lovely time. Despite our little disagreement.” Aziraphale giggled lightly, thinking himself very funny for referring to their yelling match as a ‘little disagreement’.

“Couldn’t agree more, angel.”

Newt watched as Crowley then stood up, and gently eased Aziraphale’s seat away from the table, never releasing his hand as he helped him stand. They walked out of the little pastry shop together, all smiles, and moments later Newt heard the roar of the Bentley and the squeal of the tires as they peeled out. He opened his mouth to speak, weakly pointing toward where they’d been sitting moments before. All of Anathema’s attention was on her bread pudding, now that the show was over.

“They didn’t… Speak to us. At all.”

“They didn’t say a word to me.”


End file.
